


stay well back from the platform edge

by screechfox



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Gen, Horrorterrors - Freeform, light on the fish puns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-25
Updated: 2016-06-25
Packaged: 2018-07-18 04:39:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7299916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/screechfox/pseuds/screechfox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your name is Rose Lalonde, and at night, you dream of train tunnels - gunmetal gleams in ink black darkness, and rushing, roaring, sounds.</p>
<p>And always, always, whispering.</p>
            </blockquote>





	stay well back from the platform edge

**Author's Note:**

> Based on something I wrote for my English mock exam on Monday. For the prompt: "Write the opening to a story about a crowded city."

Your train is late. To put it a little more precisely, it’s about ten minutes late, and you’d be tempted to go up and find a bus if it weren’t for the relative unreliability of such an act.

Besides, you can feel the rhythmic crash of the carriage full of people sparking in the back of your head, seemingly about to round the corner at any moment, and let the hoards of black-suited business-people be on their way.

At least they’re keeping a wide berth around you, so you’re alone on the cool metal seats, with only your coffee to accompany you. Even as it garners you unwanted attention at night, you’ve learnt not to underestimate the power of being a dark-clothed, sharp-eyed young woman during the daylight hours.

Another second ticks by, and another, and another, but there’s no sign of the train to carry you to work, just endless blackness down the old brick tunnels.

With a soft sigh, you pick up your coffee. Gently, you trace a sigil onto the bottom of the cup with one long purple nail. Kaunaz, for warmth. You take a sip, and smile as the hot liquid tingles on your tongue. 

It’s sweeter than you normally order it, admittedly, but the local corporate coffee chain had an offer on, and while you prefer it as bitter as it gets, there’s only so much money in your bank account to spend on an over-priced caffeine addiction.

You take another sip, and as you feel the heat travel down your throat, someone sits down in the seat beside you. After a moment’s practiced ignorance, you slowly turn your gaze to the stranger, careful not to draw attention to your boredom-induced curiosity.

You see long, dark legs, and a skirt that makes your eyes hurt, and then, as you look up, a gaze trained on you - hematite-black like something from the depths of your sleeping world.

The stranger grins widely as soon as you make eye contact, and as she opens her mouth to talk, you realise that she’s taken your gaze as an invitation. You may have made a horrible mistake.

“Hi!” She chirps, higher pitched than your sister at age five. “I’m Feferi! What’s your name?” 

At least you have a name to assign to your eardrums’ demise, you muse, as you try to fix this Feferi woman with your most scornful gaze.

“It seems unwise for me to tell a stranger my name, no matter how…” Your mouth twists in disdain. “Hm, how enthusiastic she may be.”

Rather than seeming slighted, Feferi claps her hands once, enthusiastically, as she inclines her head, conceding the point. It makes you think of John and Jade, for a moment, before Feferi speaks again.

“I suppose you’re probably right.” The corner of her mouth turns up in something like amusement. “You’re not exactly meant to go around giving your true name out to people, after all.” Her voice drops low, conspiratorial.

The train is still sparking, just around the corner, in your head.

“Why would you give yours, then?” Your voice is sharp as you resist the urge to look over this woman again, newly suspicious. You keep your gaze pointedly averted instead, though already you can tell that she won’t take a hint.

You feel Feferi shrug beside you. “Good manners, I suppose!” She sighs, a soft exhale of breath that echoes in your ears. “But if you don’t want to be nice, I  _ guess _ it’s just a stupid formality.“

She quiets for a blessed moment, and you entertain the thought of trying your luck walking to work on the crowded streets.

It wouldn’t work, you know. You’d end up being swept away in some lively, pulsing crowd, and you’d be lucky if you made it to work at all. But that still sounds like almost a better option than waiting for a delayed train with someone who is far too eager for your liking - and definitely more than she seems, at that.

You take another sip of your coffee, and put it down beside you. It’s not much of a barrier between you and her, but it is something, at least.

And then she starts, “So, Rose Lalonde, “ and you still. Your heart drops low in your chest, beating static-erratic. “Are you free today?”

You splutter, half-amused and half-terrified, eyes wide. “Is this a proposition? Or a way to get me alone so you can abduct me?” You pause a second, and then add, “Either way, the answer is no, and not just because neither of those sound a fun way to spend time. I have work today.”

Mentally, you add a comment about the fact she should know that, since she’s enough of a stalker to know your name.

“Oh.” Feferi says, and she sounds… sad? You take a glance at her, and she looks genuinely dismayed.

“Well, would you like to be free today?” Feferi asks, after a moment. Without warning, she snakes an arm around you, and you freeze.

You can feel her arm, soft and warm, like any normal human’s against your shoulders. But it’s like an echo, an ache - a dream-memory more than actual sensation. But what you can feel…

“I promise you, I’m a lot more fun than whatever your job is.” You feel… It’s like something from your nightmares, where long languid tendrils pull you in, and  _ whisper _ . Feferi feels like she’s leaking dusk-dark ink all over your second-best dress, and it seeps into your skin and makes you feel heavy.

“I don’t doubt that,” you say, but your voice sounds hollow. “What do you want?”

You feel her shrug, but the sensation is half alien. “What makes you think I want anything from you?”

A laugh bubbles up in your throat. “This entire situation of you approaching me while my train is late and already knowing my name?” Your voice is high, a little pitchy.

Feferi makes a noise of acknowledgement, but is silent for a moment. In all honesty, you’re preparing for one of the answers whispered to you in the tunnel-void of your dreams, but what she says surprises you. “A friend, mostly. Everyone else I know is boring.”

Surprises, but not in a comforting way.

You laugh again, and move to stand, but her hand-not-hand comes up around your throat and holds you in place. Her grip is tight, the ink-black is suffocating, and your breath shallows, making you dizzy.

You wonder at the businessmen around you, and how they’re not seeing anything, or pretending to not see anything. It’s all the same to you, really - a hoard of dark suits and cropped hair all pointedly looking away.

You don’t answer, too busy focusing on bringing one breath in after another, and she makes a dismayed sort of noise again.

“Oh well,” Feferi says, and the hand snakes back from your neck, and you can breathe again. She dances across to the edge of the platform, not looking away from you. She smiles. “Maybe another time.”

Without any response from the businessmen, she gives you a slight salute, before she throws herself backwards onto the tracks. The station lights flicker, and she’s disappeared into the darkness.

It takes you a few moments to finally regain control of yourself, raising a hand to your throat. It comes away wet: not with ink, but with water. Your hands are trembling.

As you stand up, a low murmur of displeased chatter begins from all the businessmen. You glance at the station timetable, and in bright orange letters, it states that your train has broken down.

As you hurry out of the station, coffee forgotten, your fingers skitter over the keyboard on your phone - creating many typos you’re not sure you’ll bother to correct.

You’re not going to work today.

  
(That night, you dream of a wide grin, colourful clothes, and bright-dark eyes. In your dream, you grin back, ink-smoke flowing around you.)

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me at screechfoxes on Tumblr.


End file.
